On A Tear At The Beach
by quiethearted
Summary: From a prompt from mirandaobsessed. Since buying a beach house together, Miranda has been raiding Andy's closet for beach comfy clothes.


Andy strode across the sand and mounted the steps to the narrow boardwalk that lead to the upper balcony of the vacation home she had purchased with Miranda. Since she'd insisted on paying her share, they'd ended up purchasing a small beach house on the coast of North Carolina.

Actually, it wasn't all that small, just not the usual type of showplace that one would associate with Miranda. It had that beach rusticity that Andy had always adored. Set on tall pilings, the house was one story with oversized windows that lined the walls facing the ocean. Built amongst tall dunes with a short, winding driveway, it was virtually impossible to determine whether anyone was in residence unless Andy hoisted their residence flag on the tall pole in the postage stamp sized front yard. The waving flag could be seen above the squatty trees, fencing and sand dunes that surrounded the property. It was a quaint idea that she knew Miranda secretly loved. Every queen should have a flag. So far they were using one with seashells on it that they'd found at a small store in town while Miranda sought a design more to her liking. Andy figured it would only be a matter of time before the top designers began to submit drawings for Miranda's consideration.

They'd found the house when _Runway_ had shot a layout on the Outer Banks. Miranda had been convinced that the wildness of the beaches there would contrast well with the ethereal lines of the dresses they were featuring. As usual she'd been right. Andy and the twins had accompanied her since they'd never visited that part of the country. Miranda arranged a long weekend to begin as soon as the shoot wrapped, provided no emergencies required her to return to New York or to travel elsewhere. Emily had arranged a lovely rental on the beach, and they'd had a marvelous time playing in the surf and nosing around in the small town nearby.

It was on one of their exploratory trips that they'd run across the house. Andy had fallen in love with it at first sight. Miranda had needed a bit more convincing, but even she had to admit the twins had blossomed in the sea air and laid back attitude of the locals. It was the one place they'd been where no one cared that their mother was THE Miranda Priestly. For three days Miranda had been just another mother on vacation with her family. Andy would have insisted on buying the house for that reason alone, even if it were to blow away in the first high wind. Not that there was any chance of that. It was solidly built, if a bit plain.

With the twins backing her up, Andy had convinced Miranda to decorate the place as a family instead of hiring a high profile decorator. The house had come with the basics in furnishing, though Miranda had insisted they replace all the bedding immediately. So far they had managed three trips down over the summer, spending days trolling through antique shops and furniture stores to find just the right pieces to round out the look they'd agreed on. Andy wasn't at all surprised to find that Miranda had an eye just as highly developed for decorating as she did for fashion.

Andy smiled to herself as she remembered the day they'd come across a local craftsman who constructed furniture from driftwood. Miranda had purchased a king size bed frame on the spot, which the man was only too happy to deliver later that day. The cost was a little more than Andy was comfortable with, but Miranda had soothed her concerns by offering to pay for the new bed if Andy covered the cost for a smaller one of her choice for their lone guest room. Watching the way Miranda had lovingly caressed the silky smooth wood of the frame, Andy hadn't had the heart to object further.

Early in their relationship, Andy had realized that Miranda had a deeply sensual nature that often manifested in the tactile. More than once, she'd seen her lover caressing fabrics with her fingertips prior to pronouncing their worth in fashion. As she'd watched Miranda stroking the weathered wood with the same rapturous glow in her eyes, Andy had known Miranda would adore sleeping in that bed and she'd been right. Each night of their stay at the beach house, Miranda slid her fingers along the grain as she walked to her side of the bed. Andy suspected Miranda had chosen the far side for her own just so she could make that nightly trip.

As she crossed the grayed wood to the porch, Andy's smile widened. She'd risen early to take her morning run along the beach, leaving Miranda curled amongst the white linens. Her lover was more relaxed sleeping in that bed than anywhere Andy could remember. In fact, Miranda was an entirely different person at the beach house. Just turning into the drive, Andy could sense Miranda's muscles uncoiling.

Leaning her stomach against the railing, Andy looked across the sand to the pounding green surf that was so typical of the Atlantic. She chuckled softly as she mused on what Nigel or the others at _Runway_ would make of the Miranda that existed here. Even her clothing choices reflected Miranda's relaxed attitude. Andy snorted as the recalled that Miranda had been walking around in a pair of Andy's flip-flops the day before. Miranda Priestly in purple rubber zoris had been a sight to see, though she'd threatened Andy's life if she took so much as one picture. Andy made a mental note to pack twice as much for the next trip since Miranda was more and more often selecting Andy's clothes over her own. The one time Andy had asked her about it, Miranda had shrugged and muttered something about them being more beach comfortable than her own. Somehow Andy didn't expect to see a Beach Comfy layout showing up in _Runway_ any time soon. Nor did she expect Miranda to be turning off the air conditioning in the townhouse in favor of opening every window the way she did here.

The soft scrape of the sliding screen door opening brought Andy's attention back to the moment, though she didn't take her gaze from the ebb and flow of the waves. The aroma of fresh coffee reached her nose for a second before it was whipped away by the wind.

"Did you have a nice run?" Miranda purred in her ear.

"Very nice. I love it here."

"As do I. It wasn't your worst idea to purchase this house."

Andy laughed. High praise in Mirandaspeak. "Girls up yet?"

"And gone. One of their local friends assured Cassidy she could help her find an authentic discarded fishing net with the floats intact, so nothing else would do but that they head off in search of this rare prize at first light. Why I agreed to their decorating their rooms in any way they desired, I shall never know. I must have been drunk on the sea air," Miranda groused, though her tone was more amused than irritated. "Caroline, of course, had to go along since the brother of said friend, who just happens to work summers on a fishing boat, is 'to die for.' At least from Caroline's perspective he is."

"I suppose Cass doesn't see him quite the same way," Andy said, grinning.

"Her attention seems more focused on the friend than any potential Greek god of a brother," Miranda admitted, leaning against Andy's back. One arm reached around to offer up the cup of coffee she'd brought her lover.

Accepting the cup with a soft, "Thank you," Andy took a sip. "Just more proof that your twins are something less than identical."

"Should Cassidy prove to be a lesbian and not just experiencing a normal girl crush, then we will do all we can to make sure she never feels uncomfortable with herself. I love them both, Andréa, regardless of their choices or orientations. I have more concern that Caroline may feel on the outside as the only straight member of our family," Miranda said, resting her chin on Andy's shoulder.

"Miranda Priestly never does the expected. Why should her family situation be any different? We'll handle it, Miranda, just like we have everything else that's come along in the last five years. Boyfriend or girlfriend, we'll welcome them all equally," Andy assured her. "So what's on the agenda today?"

"We are going to hang all the various prints and artifacts we acquired yesterday, so raid your little work bench for the appropriate tools while I dress. If you work efficiently, we should have several hours of uninterrupted alone time before the girls return." Miranda's breath stirred the hair near a delicate ear and warmed the skin below it.

Andy shivered at both the sensation and the thought. "I'll grab a quick shower and get everything together. Toss my green shorts and a shirt in the bathroom for me, okay?"

"If I must."

Andy smirked and took another bracing sip of her coffee. It wasn't like Miranda wasn't going to paw through the clothes in Andy's half of the dresser anyway. Lately the only time her lover ever wore her own clothes was when they went into town. Andy couldn't wait to see which items out of her limited wardrobe the queen of fashion deemed appropriate for picture hanging.

Andy showered and dressed quickly. Leaving her hair to dry naturally, she hurried down the stairs to the small work area she'd staked out in the back corner of the lattice enclosed parking pad below the house. The stairs had solid walls around them and a large locking cabinet rested against the outside of one wall. It was there that Andy kept a small stash of hand and power tools that she had acquired to do minor repairs. She pulled out the five gallon bucket with its fabric tool carrier and stuffed the pockets of the carrier with various small boxes of nails, screws and mounting hardware. Then she added screw drivers, a hammer, level, tape measure, and cordless drill along with a case of drill bits. Satisfied she had everything she needed, Andy lugged the bucket back upstairs.

She almost dropped the bucket on her foot when she caught sight of Miranda posed in front of one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows as she looked over the framed print she held in her hands. The jeans that wrapped lovingly around Miranda's legs were definitely Andy's, but the thin white tank must have belonged to one of the twins. Both items fit Miranda like a second skin and left sweeping expanses of Miranda's arms and chest on show. Andy wasn't sure what was under the jeans but the only thing under that tank was Miranda. The dark shadows of her aureoles were as apparent as the hardened nipples that pressed against the thinly ribbed fabric. For a moment, Andy felt she might drown in her own saliva and she swallowed repeatedly to keep up with the flow, though an entirely different flood was beyond her control. Not that it was going to get any better if Miranda turned around because Andy knew those jeans well. They were her all time favorites and older than even Andy cared to think about. The denim was worn to a soft white with more rips and tears than material. The hems were little more than hanging threads, both knees were split, and one back pocket was totally gone leaving more than one hole in its wake. Not to mention the tear at the top of the thigh in back and the hole at the top of the inner thigh in front.

_Please, God, don't let me nail my hand to wall._ Andy sat the bucket down with a thump, just missing one bare foot. "Um, Miranda, we could do laundry this afternoon if you've run out of clothes."

Miranda glanced over at her before returning her attention to the print she held. "Nonsense, Andréa, I have more than sufficient clothing. I believe we'll hang this one in our room. It should look good between the two windows on the north wall."

Andy nodded dumbly and stepped forward to take the print, managing to kick the bucket at her feet in the process. She gave up thoughts of the picture in favor of grabbing her foot and rubbing at the throbbing toes she'd just stubbed. "Ouch! Damn!" she hissed, hopping on one foot. On the second bounce, she overbalanced and, lowering her injured foot to catch herself, stepped in the bucket and went sprawling. "Mother fu-!"

"Andréa! Language!" Miranda snapped, cutting her off.

Andy sat on the floor rubbing her twice-injured foot. "Dammit, that hurt!"

"And the profanity miraculously healed it?" Miranda asked sarcastically.

"Sure didn't hurt it any worse," Andy muttered.

"Oh, honestly," Miranda sighed. Leaning the print against the end of the couch, she padded over on bare feet. "Let me see it."

"It's fine," Andy huffed.

Seating herself on the end of the coffee table, Miranda held out her hand. "Give me your foot, Andréa."

Andy was too busy staring at everything Miranda had on display to register what her lover was saying. "Huh?"

"Your foot. It's that thing at the end of your leg that you've been having histrionics over. Let me see it," Miranda directed.

Placing the injured extremity into Miranda's extended palm, Andy whimpered when plush breasts brushed against her sole. "Other than a slight redness to your big toe, I don't see anything obviously wrong with it. You are worse than the children sometimes."

"You don't turn your headlights on high beam for the twins," Andy defended unable to take her eyes off the body parts in question.

"My—," Miranda started then looked from Andy's eyes to where they were fixated and back. Her lips curled in a smirk. "I take it you approve of my clothing choice?"

Andy nodded dumbly. "Approve. Yes. Good choice."

Miranda stroked her fingertips over the top of the foot she still held. "This isn't getting the pictures hung," she observed.

"What pictures?" Andy asked, honestly having forgotten anything that didn't include Miranda's clothes and the skin peeking out.

Tossing back her head, Miranda laughed freely. The sound triggered a tightening in Andy's belly. She loved Miranda's laugh. It was seldom heard and produced the same effect on Andy's libido every time.

Drawing her foot back, Andy shifted to her knees and crawled across the small distance that separated them. She stroked her tongue across one exposed knee. "Tasty," she murmured before repeating the action on the other knee. "I like these jeans."

"I imagine you do since I found them in your suitcase," Miranda replied, her smirk widening.

"Much better on you than me," Andy continued, drilling her tongue into a small hole located midway up the right thigh. "I love your skin. So soft and warm."

"Pictures, Andréa," Miranda reminded, standing to escape the marauding tongue. She crossed back to where she'd left the print and leaned to retrieve it. Andy hadn't made a sound but the warm, wet swipe of tongue through the rip at the top of the thigh on the back of the jeans announced her arrival.

Curling her tongue upward Andy licked over the beginning of the curve of Miranda's left buttock. Reaching up, Andy pressed a palm into Miranda's lower back forcing her to lean over further. She ran her tongue along the seam below the zipper that she knew had given long ago. She slipped between the folds of material and almost crowed in delight. Miranda wasn't wearing any more under the jeans than she was the tank. Andy pushed deep and angled her tongue to press against Miranda's clit. Slipping her hands between Miranda's knees, she pressed them further apart opening both the seam and her lover wider. Fastening her lips to the tear, she pushed deep into Miranda's core licking the slick walls.

Miranda braced herself on the arm of the couch and moaned deeply. Her hips rocked back to spear herself more fully on the penetrating muscle. "Andréa," she groaned.

"Mine, mine, mine," Andy muttered, extracting her tongue to taste the juices that bathed it. She tugged each side of the seam with her fingers, widening the rip just enough to be able to plunge her tongue back more fully and suck at Miranda's labia. Her hands reached forward to grasp Miranda's hanging breasts, squeezing and molding the soft weights. _Love Miranda. Love the jeans. Love Miranda in the jeans. She's keeping these._ Andy's mind raced in circles as she feasted.

Miranda's hips twisted and flexed as she rode Andy's face and tongue. Guttural moans escaped her throat as fingers pulled and pinched her nipples. "More. Please, more."

Andy withdrew and spun Miranda around pushing her down on the couch. She moved one of Miranda's legs to drape over the arm of the couch and held the other up at the back of the knee. With her free hand, she pushed two fingers through the open seam deeply into Miranda's dripping core. Her lips latched onto a peaked nipple through the tight white cloth of the tank. She sucked, wetting the fabric. Worrying the nipple with her teeth, Andy plunged her fingers in and out of her lover. "So good," she sighed, her voice muffled by cloth and breast flesh.

Miranda screeched. One hand grasped the back of Andy's head to pull her tighter and the other clawed at the back of her shirt while her hips churned to meet the intruding fingers. "Yes!"

Andy curled her fingers, digging into that spot inside that she knew would make Miranda lose complete control. She was rewarded instantly as Miranda came in waves, screaming Andy's name with a roar. The cotton under her lips and the denim surrounding her fingers were equally soaked, and Andy smiled in triumph. Miranda swore no one had been able to make her drench herself the way Andy could. Andy always felt her ego swell when that fact was proven yet again.

"You're so keeping this outfit," Andy commanded as she caught Miranda's lips in a deep kiss, only slightly less wet that the rest of her lover's body.

When the kiss broke, Miranda glanced down at herself. "I look like I wet my pants," she groaned.

"You did," Andy replied with a self-satisfied smirk. "And you're going to do it again." Andy attacked the breast under the dry half of Miranda's shirt, and her fingers sought out the torn seam once more. She was definitely going to have to see what other half-wrecked clothes she owned to pack for their next trip to the beach house.


End file.
